


Carry Me Out

by LamiaCalls



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24055177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaCalls/pseuds/LamiaCalls
Summary: Pansy wishes there was more she could do to relieve her girlfriend's nightmares about the war.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Carry Me Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



It’s dark still when Pansy wakes to the sound of crying. Hermione is moving next to her, struggling against the sheets. Pansy breathes out.

“Hermione? Babe?”

But there’s no answer; there never is. It’s nightmares again, the ones that plague her girlfriend so regularly. Her heart thrums with pain to know she can’t take them away, and that, in fact, in some ways, she may have contributed to them once. But she was different then. They all were. So much younger, so much more careless with each other.

They’ve muddled through these nightmares so often that Pansy has a routine.

She plants a kiss on Hermione’s sweat laden forehead, and wraps her arms around her. Hermione is still struggling, but it’s like a babe being swaddled; at least it means she can’t hurt Pansy or, worse, herself.

“Hermione,” Pansy says again, softly into Hermione’s ear.

She pulls her close, and begins to rock her.

“You’ve got to wake up, babe,” she says.

She kisses her again, on the cheek, then more, along the side of her face. It’s her favourite way to wake Hermione up, nightmares or no. She likes Hermione to know just how loved she is from the first moment of consciousness.

Hermione makes a tiny sound, like an animal in pain, but doesn’t stir. That usually means it’s a bad night.

Pansy reaches back to pick up her wand, and casts the room alight, so they’re bathed in a warm, calming orange glow. She wants Hermione to wake up and to see their room and know she isn’t back in the Manor or alone in the woods. She knows it doesn’t protect her from the nightmares, but it’s all she can do.

She returns to holding Hermione, sliding an arm under her sweaty neck to cradle her head. She brushes Hermione’s bushy mane out of the way. It hurts so much to see her face twist into a thousand microexpressions of pain and panic, both of them powerless to stop it.

Hermione has said she doesn’t like being waken too suddenly before. It makes it much harder for her to return to herself, to her time. So Pansy takes her time. Hermione is the only person she ever has patience for.

“Hermione, love, it’s time to wake up,” she says again. She shakes her as gently as possible, kisses her again on the cheek. “Come on, you don’t have to stay there. I’ve got you.”

Hermione lets out a small gasp, and her eyelids flutter open — for just a moment, but it’s enough to let Pansy know it’s working.

“Hermione, it’s me, Pansy,” she whispers into her ear. “You’re safe here.”

There’s a moment of pure panic, as there always is upon waking, where Hermione’s goes stock still followed by struggling harder against the sheets and covers and Pansy’s grasp. But then she begins to breathe again, shallow and fast but breathing nonetheless. Her eyes open, and she blinks at the strange magic light, and up at Pansy’s face.

“You’re alright, I’ve got you,” Pansy says again, and kisses her on the forehead. “We’re in our flat on Diagon Alley. It’s summer. We were out for dinner with George and Angelina just a few hours ago. You had salmon and a glass of white wine. George accidentally spat half a meatball at you. Now it’s three a.m. now, and tomorrow is a Saturday.”

Hermione blinks, the confusion starting to clear as Pansy details their lives, their day. Her face relaxes and she looks up at Pansy with a lucidity and clarity that always makes Pansy’s heart stop.

“Oh Merlin, Pansy,” she says. Her voice is a barely-there whisper, strained and pleading. “I thought— I thought I was back there.”

Then she begins to cry. It’s normal, Pansy knows, and some of it is not just pain or sorrow but relief too, but it doesn’t break Pansy’s heart any less to hear it.

Pansy doesn’t ask where. It’s usually the same place. She just nods, and tells Hermione she knows, and snuggles her closer. She nuzzles her neck, and begins to shower her with kisses, whispers that she’s safe, that Pansy has her, that it’s okay.

Hermione doesn’t stop crying for almost fifteen minutes. Pansy holds her close the entire time. She feels so useless, so impotent. She can cuddle and kiss and say soft things, but none of it erases the terror. The best she can do is help recover, and that’s not enough. That never _feels_ like enough.

How can a woman as brilliant as Hermione be forced to go through so much pain and panic? Pansy wants to scream that, always. Of course, she doesn’t. She’s not the one who has to carry it.

Instead, as Hermione’s wet sobs begin to dissipate into something less anguished, something that tells Pansy that the worst of it is over, she leans over and presses against Hermione’s lips for the first time. She can feel how warm Hermione’s face is from the tears, wet and swollen.

“Tea?” she whispers.

Hermione takes a second, and then nods.

Pansy gives her a squeeze before she untangles herself, and wanders out into their darkened flat. She hates to leave Hermione alone, but she also knows two other things: that acts of service are the way Hermione understands love, and that a cup of tea has magical calming properties. It was Neville who taught her that.

She stands at the kitchen counter in just a t-shirt and knickers, hopping from one foot to another in impatience to get back to her girlfriend. Behind her, she hears Hermione getting up and using the bathroom.

She charms the kettle to boil faster, and makes the tea just the way Hermione likes it: stronger than anyone should ever have it, with only a small splash of milk. It makes Pansy gag, but now she can never imagine kissing Hermione where she doesn’t taste of too-strong tea. She makes a cup for herself too, milky and with a spoon of sugar.

When she gets back to the bedroom, Hermione has curled back into bed. Her eyes are puffy and red still, and Pansy can never understand how Hermione manages to look so beautiful like that. Pansy places the cup on the bedside cabinet and returns to her side of the bed.

Hermione sits up, and Pansy can’t help herself to fuss at the pillows behind Hermione, puffing them up so they’re comfortable. She puffs up her own pillow too, and grabs her mug.

Hermione takes tentative sips, the liquid still far too hot for human consumption. That has never stopped Hermione though. She gives Pansy a watery but appreciative smile.

“Thanks,” she says, and her voice is ragged and rough from the tears still.

“Are you okay?” Pansy asks softly. She takes Hermione’s hand in hers, lifts it to her lips. “It seemed like a bad one.”

Hermione nods. “It was. But it’s okay now. I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be fine,” Pansy says firmly. It’s something they’ve worked through a lot, over the year they’ve been together; Hermione not pretending everything is okay to save Pansy from dealing with it. “I’m here for you no matter what.”

“No matter what?” Hermione says, with a half-smile.

“Yeah.”

“I’m a lucky girl,” Hermione says. She squeezes Pansy’s hand.

Pansy can’t help but laugh.

“No, I think you’ve gotten us mixed up here. I’m the lucky one.” Before Hermione can argue, Pansy says: “Drink your tea.”

They drink in silence for a time, holding their free hands. As horrible as the nightmares are, and the flashbacks that sometimes come even during their waking hours, Pansy is grateful for these moments that come after. Where they can sit quietly, basking in the glow of each other’s company, knowing they are safe, whole, happy and alive. Knowing Hermione is through the worst for that day, or at least that hour on really bad days, and that they will rise again the next day to fight back the demons, together.

“You must be exhausted,” she says to Hermione, once they’ve drained their cups.

Hermione nods weakly. “And you. I know it’s not nice waking up like that.”

Pansy leans over, plants a peck on Hermione’s warm cheek.

“I’m happy to. No one should have to relive that alone. I just wish…”

“I know,” Hermione says. And Pansy’s sure she does know. Because Pansy knows that if the tables were turned, Hermione too would wish she could do more than cuddle and kiss and give tea. She’d wish, just like Pansy does, that she could take away even a fraction of the pain forever.

“Work in a few hours,” Pansy says instead.

“Right. Time to sleep,” Hermione says, nodding.

She lays back down, curls up. Pansy scoots in beside her, to hold her girlfriend tightly and closely, the way they both like after a nightmare has disturbed them.

It’s late and they’re both tired, and Hermione’s breath slows quickly.

Before either of them drift off, though, Pansy whispers again in Hermione’s ear: “You’re always safe with me.”

Hermione makes a little appreciative sound, and presses back into Pansy. Pansy squeezes her tightly, before they both fall back asleep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic: 'Carry Me Out' by LamiaCalls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24910435) by [peasina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peasina/pseuds/peasina)




End file.
